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I turn green. I feel it. I force the mouthful down and then frantically grab for my glass of water, gulping to try and clear the taint.
Summer shakes her head.
“We’re going to the toilet. Back in a minute.”
I don’t give her a second glance, I’m too busy trying to rinse my mouth out and keep my stomach from flipping over. I cannot vomit at the table of a fancy restaurant, but the look Summer gave me very clearly said not to follow her to the restrooms.
Maybe her and guy one are going to have sex in the loos. Gross. As nice as they are, it’s still a toilet. No thank you.
“Are you okay?” One of the remaining five guys asks me and I nod.
“Sorry.”
I don’t know why I’m apologising but I think it’s the socially acceptable, British thing to do. Americans seem to apologise a hell of a lot less than we do. Though apparently expressing remorse and feeling remorse are two very different things.
I wait another couple of minutes, but when Summer doesn’t return I have to excuse myself from the booth.
“I’m really sorry, but could you let me out please?”
Guy five does, and I race off in the direction of the toilets once again with my handbag clasped in such a firm grip, my knuckles have turned white. The room is spinning and swaying violently as I go.
“Malia?” Summer asks when we collide in the corridor outside the restrooms. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just not…umm, feeling well.”
“It was the chicken liver pâté, wasn’t it?” My stomach lurches at the term. “I don’t know why you ordered it! You don’t have anyone to impress here.”
Only Summer could think I would order a dish to impress her boyfriends when really it was just done in a moment of blind panic. I blame the waiter, I asked for chicken, not liver!
“Can I?” I nod to the toilets.
“Oh, of course. But before you do…” I internally groan. “What do you think of the guys?”
“Umm.” I bounce from foot to foot, trying to find the right words.
“What?” Summer’s gaze hardens.
“Nothing. They seem really…umm…great.”
Relief washes across her features and she smiles at me. “I knew you’d love them! Which is your favourite? It’s Abbey, isn’t it? I saw you staring at him over the champagne toast. I don’t blame you, he’s so dreamy and—”
“I’m sorry, I really do have to go!” I blurt out, pushing past Summer and racing into the cool sanctuary of the marble bathroom. Once again, it’s thankfully empty and I’m able to throw up every last ounce of the chicken starter that I wish I’d never touched.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead and once I flush, I sink down to the floor and rest my head on my arms. My vision swims in and out of focus and I close my eyes.Just for a minute. Until the swimming stops.
When I come round, I’m cold and clammy and stiff from sitting on the floor. A weird scent fills the air and I flush the toilet again. It doesn’t clear it. I unlock the door and step out, intending to wash my hair, my face and probably rinse out my mouth, but I stop dead in my tracks.
Oh that is such a horrible term to use, Malia!I chastise myself as I take in the carnage surrounding me. The beautiful marble floors are decimated with blood. It’s on every surface, even dripping from the ceiling…how?
I shudder and try to step round the mess, slipping and crashing to my knees and ruining Summer’s stupid white dress in the process.
Who wears white to a bloodbath?
It wasn’t supposed to be a bloodbath, Malia! You didn’t plan this!
I didn’t plan to wear white either. That was all Summer’s doing.
Maybe focus on what’s in front of you right now, and not semantics!
